


Dioscuri (A Stoker AU)

by feyrelay



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, American Gothic - Freeform, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Father/Son Incest, Grief/Mourning, Illegitimacy, Infidelity, M/M, No Underage Sex, POV Multiple, Past Maya Hansen/Tony Stark, Past Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Prompt Fill, Psychological Drama, Stoker AU, Superior Iron Man Is His Own Warning, Tony Stark Bingo 2019, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 00:30:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20380696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feyrelay/pseuds/feyrelay
Summary: COMPLETE.CNTW = this is an AU-fusion of a very odd movie, Stoker, and I've gone about it in an odd way; dunno how else to say it... also Superior Iron Man is his own warning. If you haven't seen the movie, watch the trailer at least: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YJWrXKoTpL0Peter Parker, Tony Stark's son out of wedlock, would do anything to see his father's face again. But not like this.[Fills my Tony Stark bingo squares S5 "First Time".]





	1. Leo Sun

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Affectionary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Affectionary/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Affectionary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Affectionary/pseuds/Affectionary) in the [TomarryFlashExchanges](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/TomarryFlashExchanges) collection. 

> Playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3IKCOqG8lnYko3pj8otJuD?si=ZjIGaX2xRJKgMu46AZ4R2w).

2019 is a weird year for Peter Parker. It's a weird year for everyone, really, but Peter has always felt things more acutely than others. He's sensitive, his mother likes to say.

Then again, his mother might only think that because she has no sensitivity herself, not to the small, quiet things that matter. Life thrums at a frequency too mundane for Pepper to deem anything but  _ quotidienne _ . 

That's how she would say it, too. In perfect French, she finds her hook to hang herself on. As if a true francophone would ever choose that word, when it literally means 'daily' and 'mundane'. Here's the thing, Peter thinks frequently: to those of us who truly have a native tongue, we do not speak it for others to hear us do so. We do not define the daily words that we use as their own, tautological selves. You wouldn't say what's blue is 'blue', or what's red is 'red', so why would you call them  _ azul _ or  _ rouge? _ What is foreign and exciting and artful can also be mundane, when you are born to art. When it is your native and natural way of being.

His mother will never understand. 

His father always does. (Always did.)

Peter does not pretend to know what separates the two. It is not a matter of male and female, he does not think. He cannot see their interior lives, and sometimes has been afraid that they do not (did not) have any. He sometimes is afraid that he is the only truly living person and that everyone else is a ghost whom he cannot really touch. When he touches people, the hairs on his arm stand straight up and a chill passes through him. 

This feeling gets worse after Tony's funeral. 

Many people have come to pay their respects to the famous engineer-turned-architect. His designs defined a generation of new construction; in the past decade, especially, the sustainable yet chic structures have come to dominate everywhere those rich enough to afford them call home. 

Peter's mother can't compete with that kind of legacy, no matter how carefully she chooses her widow's pearls, her high heels which sink into cemetery turf, her ridiculous wedge veil. 

The wind shifts and a man called Hammer murmurs, "Why dress it up? There's not even anything to bury…" 

"Well, presenting a united front is important, I'd say, especially if Stark was running around on Pepper again. Found his car halfway sunk in the Finger Lakes… Bit out of the way of his commute, if you know what I-" 

Peter clears his hollow throat. 

There is a familiar shape up on the ridge and a familiar name on Peter's tongue. (Native.)

_ Dad, is that you? _

***

Dinner that night (rare steaks and stuffed endive) erases the indignities of the day. Peter would endure a thousand false funerals filled with more false condolences and curious eyes, to have this: his father's face, his father's laugh, his father's appetite. 

The man on the ridge meets them after the wake, after everyone—from Peter's birth-mother's former AIM associates to Stark Architecture staff—have cleared out. They'd all come crawling out of the woodwork to get the hot gossip on whether Tony Stark's legendary nest egg would land with his company, his son, or the woman with whom he shared the former more than the latter. 

Peter had worried, maybe for a minute or two, about whether Pepper would cast him out. He's eighteen and not her blood and they've never been close, though he has always called her 'mother'. That honor was never reserved for the ghost of Maya Parker née Hansen; Tony had insisted, out of extramarital guilt, maybe. He'd wanted his wife to bond with the son he'd never have had, if he and Maya Parker had both kept to their vows. It's a complicated family tree, one that no one had been eager to see borne out in probate court. 

Now, it's a non-issue. Now, there is no question of inheritance, and they keep the quiet joy of averted tragedy to themselves for one night. 

What does it matter if Peter's father had been a reluctant vegetarian, in deference to his heart defect? What does it matter if he's wearing his sunglasses indoors and at night?

A near-death experience would make anyone re-evaluate the superior things in life, Peter decides. 

***

In another part of the house:

"We're twins, do you know what that means? He's genetically, down to the most infinitesimal, indivisible level... he could have been mine. So you fucked the married scientist, good for you, Tony. But Peter is mine. Half mine, already. We’re the same, really. You’re a poor genetic substitute for what I could make Peter."

Tony Stark, gagged and gagging, is. A shake of his bloodied head, a thorny look at his misbegotten twin. Alive, still.

Edward looks back at him, crystal-clear-eyed. “Don’t blame me just because you never had the stomach to teach your bastard his place in the world. Which is, for your edification, above everyone else and just below me.”

The cob-webbed basement runs beneath the house like veins, or roots. This estate is older than anything Tony ever designed for his ultra-modern, uber-wealthy clients. The network of nooks and crannies carved out of glacial rock could be used to hide near-anything or near-anyone. 

Edward Stark leaves his brother, seals him into an offshoot of the house’s buried heart.

(Superior vena cava.)


	2. Gemini Moon

The next day dawns bright blue, and the truth comes out.

“Pepper, honey, when you said you ‘missed me so much’, I thought it was because we haven’t seen each other for nearly two decades. I didn’t mean to impersonate him, you must understand. It’s too easy for me to fall into emulating Tony-”

Peter feels oddly sorry for her. He hates when she cries. It sucks all the light and air from the room, and grates on his sensitive hearing.

He feels less sorry when his uncle finally explains what brought him here. “He couldn’t live with himself, seeing Peter turning into a man, into the spitting image of his mother. His guilt, Pepper, you have to understand. He visited me, you know… I had a layover in Newark coming from Charles de Gaulle, and he braved the line coming into Jersey just to talk to me; he was in a bad way.”

“I. I’m calling May. I can’t handle this. You’re telling me he couldn’t live with not being the perfect hero, the perfect husband? And his solution was to  _ abandon _ us?” Pepper questions, even in the midst of her histrionics. Peter watches as the interloper employs flattery.

“You’re educated enough to know that guilt is often divorced of reason. That’s what my brother loved about you, he told me once. What was it he said? That you came back Wendy while he was still Peter Pan. You came back from college all grown up.”

Peter latches onto that, thinks. He thinks about the inscription on the inside of Dad’s lost wedding band. Peter had stolen it when he was thirteen; it had been wet and shiny on the edge of the bathroom sink. It had smelled like rain, or blood. (Metal and water.)

“Second star to the right, and straight on ‘til morning,” Peter quotes.

Pepper looks up, looks at him. She must  _ know. _

Peter waits for her to say it out loud. He wonders if she will be so melodramatic as to use the phrase  _ j’accuse _ .

— 

Aunt May shows up for the next dinner. Peter and Edward have spent the entire day circling each other, and now Peter gets to see the same dance with different players.

He and May are barely related; she’s his birth-mother’s husband’s sister-in-law.

(If they  _ were _ related, she’d be better at parrying his uncle’s blows.)

“May, is it? I thought it was Maya? Or is it a nickname? I’m lost, here.”

May opens her mouth to clarify, but Peter beats her to it. “She’s not really my aunt,” he says.

“Peter!” his mother reprimands him. “That is  _ rude _ . She came all this way, and she’s a good friend.”

Fine. Peter smiles at May as best he can. If it’s a little too wide, what of it. His father had always given him credit for trying. His father had given him credit for everything.

Dinner is not the happy affair it had been last time. Peter thinks it wouldn’t have been anyway, for obvious reasons, but his mother’s insistence on breaking out the bourbon doesn’t help. May is her normal, high-strung self.

"It wasn't enough for him to take up all your time, no, of course not,” Pepper rails. “Not enough to put himself in danger until my body literally could not handle the stress. He had to go and be self-righteous about it too..."

Peter’s rabbit is underdone, a touch. He presses at it with the flat of his knife and the resulting juice has too much of a blush to it.

"When you can see things that others cannot see, hear what others cannot hear,” he says quietly, not sure where the sentence is going. “..when you can do the things that we can do, and you don't..."

His melody runs out. He starts on the russet potatoes.

"Yes, of course,” Pepper continues her diatribe as May nods. “Well, he always did say that. You vain thing, Peter, you say it as if I haven't heard it a thousand times before! I knew your father for a lifetime before you were born, you forget. We did not simply come into existence fully-formed to bring you into being, you know!"

“I know,” he replies mildly. He lets his father’s mirror observe all the fight going out of him, under his mother’s gaze.

That could prove useful.

— 

“I know,” he replies mildly, that night, when his uncle comes up to his room to bring him a belated birthday gift.

"What do you know, kid?" 

"I know he's alive. I can hear his heartbeat, under the floor."

His father's keeper places a familiar hand, for the first time, on Peter. He rests his palm to Peter's neck. "Dead boys tell no tales.”

"They don't suck any cocks, either, mister. And you did come all this way," Peter states bravely, though he mimics Pepper's light, dinnertime tone. 

The blue-eyed man closes those same eyes. Opens his hand. Lets Peter go. 

_ For now, _ Edward doesn't have to say. 

"I know," Peter says, out loud, anyway. August is a long, hot month. He's less mild-mannered with each metronomed minute. 

— 

But what was the gift?


	3. Taurus Rising

Tony knows his brother. He knows that if his blue-eyed twin has tied the rope too loosely around Tony’s own wrists, then it’s because Edward wants him to escape. It makes the game of catching him, hunting him, more fun. Tony knows, even as he spits out his gag and rubs at the aching, burning ligature marks, that as soon as he makes a break for it he will be engaging Edward’s chase instinct.

Tony knows it’s a trap. And yet, he goes. He has to get Peter out of the house.

He stumbles toward his son’s bedroom, limbs weary from hunger and captivity. He’s intent on being quiet, knowing that Edward and Peter have the same, finely-attuned senses. It is, after all, that which has so convinced his crazed twin that Peter is rightfully his, that he and Peter are somehow separate and above Tony, not to mention the rest of the world.

Tony tries his best, legs shaking like a fawn, to be silent. He’s trying so hard that he completely misses the hushed sounds, not until he enters Peter’s room and is met with their source.

Slickness is the first thing Tony perceives. Edward has Peter on his side in the moonlight, spooning the younger man, and where Peter’s top leg is frogged back around his uncle’s rabbiting, working thigh there shines the wet light of lube.

Peter is breathing in a way Tony’s never heard his son breathe, every exhale a moan as Tony’s twin fucks into him from behind, hand possessive as he folds Peter’s top leg back. The other hand has snuck between Peter’s side and the mattress to allow Edward to band the boy tight about the chest. There is nothing touching Peter’s cock. (It drools on the sheets and Tony is…)

“Daddy, daddy, _ daddy,” _ Peter is chanting.

Tony makes a noise in the back of his throat, damns himself 

In an instant, his son and brother separate. Edward has a gun, blacker than anything else in the shadowed room, on him in an instant.Tony looks between his twin’s legs, at the slick hardness there, instead of at the weapon.

Tony turns his gaze to Peter and can’t tell if he is frightened or aroused, still; Tony doesn’t have their superior senses that can pick these things out.

But, he knows. He banks on aroused, undoes his worse-for-wear jeans (taking care to pull his belt all the way free) and goes to finish Peter off. He puts his son on his back so he can see who it is who does this to him, can see Tony’s eyes and know what to do. 

With a gun pressed behind his ear, Tony enters his son, raw. Peter clutches him, at one shoulder and one bicep and tight around Tony’s cock, too. _ Fuck. _

Tony touches his son’s thunderstruck face gently with one hand, and holds himself up with the other, belt coiled under his palm, hopefully disappearing into the shadow of the shivering mattress.

“It’s okay, baby. I’m here, I got you,” he tries, and Peter shudders. Tony has to put his other hand down, too weak just now to keep this up one-handed. He tries not to think about the way Peter is being fucked steadily up the bed, closer to the headboard with every little stuttering _ uh-uh-uh _ snatched from his throat.

He could take this slow, _ should _ take this slow. As a father, Tony has tried not to pry into Peter’s personal life as he’s gotten older, but.

He knows. Peter’s probably never done this before tonight.

So, yeah, Tony ought to be taking it slow, trying to make it easier for him despite the circumstances, but. 1) he needs Peter to come sooner rather than later, before Edward clocks the belt in his hand, and 2) _ Tony doesn’t want to. _

Tony shoves forward and Peter sucks in a breath and Tony uses the movement to slide their surreptitious, leather last hope under Peter’s pillow. Still, it’s important that his twin stay distracted.

Dirty talk ought to work. “Look at him. Taking the cock that made him.”

The barrel of the gun skitters along his scalp as Edward makes a sound like he’s being hollowed out. Tony takes his hand away from the belt, not wanting to draw attention to its location. God help him, he fists Peter’s cock instead, trying to hurry this along.

Peter groans, long and low, and Tony feels his son tighten down on him, even as the gun diverts again. Tony can’t blame his twin. Peter’s responsiveness is very distracting. (This is their only chance.)

“That’s right, Peter,” Tony breathes, and he hears his twin echo him a half-second behind. Edward leans in to steal Peter’s breath even as the boy comes. Tony tries not to think about how long Edward had been working him over for, on his side like that and facing the door (what a tableau). Before Tony could get to him. (Before Tony could _ get to him_.)

The gun is flat on Peter’s hitching belly, forgotten as the younger man is kissed and devoured.

Tony fucks forward one more time, into Peter’s oversensitive hole, snatches the belt and presses it into Peter’s hands, even as he himself takes up the firearm. It’s slick with come in his grasp, more dangerous than usual.

Tony flips the safety off even as he pulls out of his own son. He wonders what it means that the safety was still _ on _.

It hardly matters because Peter strikes his uncle with the belt, whips him across the face with a whistling _ thwip _ as he shoves himself over the opposite side of the bed to get away. Edward howls and Tony takes aim and.

Peter’s on him before Tony’s other half hits the ground. “Daddy, oh my god, you did it, you’re okay-”

Tony gathers him up in a hug, but after a long moment Peter turns it into a kiss, into several kisses. Between them, Tony tries to stop him. “Son, you gotta stop. Baby, come on, we need to get your mother, she’s probably tied up-”

“Mom’s run away with Aunt May. Uncle threatened to kill her if she didn’t disappear. She took a lot of cash and all her jewelry, and bought two tickets to Switzerland,” Peter informs him breathlessly, and Tony pulls back to look at Peter’s dark eyes. They are the same as his own.

“I- We need to call the police,” Tony tries.

“We have the house. The grounds. The garden.”

“Alright but, Peter, we need to call the sheriff, about. About Edward, about the body.”

“Switzerland rarely extradites wealthy people back to the US,” Peter whispers against Tony’s mouth. Another kiss. There’s a fine, red mist of blowback on his face. “I looked it up.”

Tony wants nothing more than a shower. He wants them both to be clean again.

“We have the house,” Peter repeats. “The grounds, the garden.” (The tunnels.)

“If they did find him,” Tony says slowly, replying to a question Peter hadn’t asked, “then they’d likely assume Pepper and May, they. In Switzerland. No extradition-”

Peter watches him, no doubt taking in every detail of Tony’s countenance as he works through the problem. “Yes, daddy. Please. Please, don’t let them take you away. I’d be alone.”

— 

Tony gets his sunglasses back.

He’ll need them, when they go out.


End file.
